Time On Their Hands
by Artemisdesari
Summary: Sort of follow on from Inside The Fire, you don't have to have read it though. Dean/Cas, don't like it, don't read it. Dean and Cas get some alone time. Rated for a reason, please read note at the beginning.


_I can't believe I'm actually posting this, I can't believe I actually _wrote_ it. This fandom has done a lot of things to me, but causing me to cross the mental line and actually write smut? That is a whole other ball game for me. So anyway, this basically follows on from 'Inside The Fire' another of my fics and therefore is Dean/Cas. It is also the first smutty thing that I have _ever_ written in the history of time so I'm fully aware that it probably sucks. Please don't flame me. All the same, if you like it, tell me, please? Because I blushed so much just writing this._

_Also, Punky, this is for you, because you encouraged me and continue to encourage me._

_**Disclaimer:** I've looked everywhere, the contracts stating that they belong to me are nowhere to be found. Therefore I have to conclude that they don't belong to me in the slightest._

Time On Their Hands.

_So the weeks go on and they fight and they search and when they can get rid of Sam, there is sex, hot and needy, soft and loving, comforting even if it is not entirely normal...........................For the moment, though, just this moment, Lucifer has not come and Sam is in the library researching. Dean and Castiel have some time on their hands._

Dean has to give Sam a little bit of credit for being an awesome younger brother, because no matter how much this must freak him out, this thing that he has going on with Castiel, Sam still finds reasons to leave them in the motel room on their own at least once every ten days or so, whether by simply making up some excuse to go out, or by hustling enough money at the pool table to get another room at the _other_ end of the motel for the night, just so that he can give them some alone time. Which is what they need, building a friendship in these sorts of tight quarters being hard enough, but building a whole _relationship_ is another matter entirely. So he finds an excuse and he gives them alone time to do with as they will.

Dean manages to last a whole ten minutes before his lips are pressed against Castiel's, ten whole minutes before his tongue is stroking softly across the angel's chapped lips, asking for, and being granted, entrance to a mouth that he is well on the way to knowing with the same intimacy that he knows his own. The kiss starts soft, starts gently, as the half lazy exploration of lovers, gradually becoming more heated as the instinctive knowledge that they have not done this, have not been _together,_ in over a week takes hold, bodies craving that which neither has been able to give them.

As the kiss becomes more heated, more frenzied, Dean becomes aware of two things, becomes aware of the way that Castiel's fingers are tangled in his short hair, becomes aware of the growing hardness against his left thigh and somehow those two things, those two signs that Castiel wants this at least as much as he does, is reassuring, reassuring and arousing and even though they have done this a dozen times he cannot help but wonder at it, all but whimpers when Castiel grinds himself against Dean's crotch, a whimper that is matched by a low moan from the angel's throat.

Castiel breaks away, moving down, planting feather light kisses along Dean's jaw, moving down further to lick and suck and nip at his neck and Dean lets himself gasp at that, lets his head drop back to give the angel better access to his throat, feels Castiel push his plaid shirt from his shoulders, hands gentle and he begins to push at Dean, inching them back towards the bed as the shirt hits the floor. His lips are on Dean's again, then, his hands moving down Dean's chest and stomach as Dean fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, tie long since abandoned and forgotten.

He finally succeeds in getting the shirt off Castiel as his legs hit the end of the bed and he collapses back on it, pulling the angel with him and they lie there in a tangle of arms and legs, pressed together, lips caressing and tongues duelling, desperate hands grasping at flesh and clothing. The feeling of each other, of hardness pressed against firm thighs and the constricting rub of suddenly too tight clothing, fills all their senses and leaves them gasping, breaking away from one another for long enough for Dean to yank his t-shirt off over his head and pull off boots and socks as Castiel moves up the bed, blue eyes now blackened with lust and hair up at odder angles than usual.

The sight of Castiel lying on the bed shirtless, pale, soft, skin bared to the dingy light of the motel room, dishevelled and needy, sends Dean over the edge, reminds him of just how much he wants the angel, of how much he _needs_ him and he all but launches himself at Cas, kiss heated and demanding, hot flesh pressed together, Castiel's hands digging into his biceps, one hand covering the mark that the angel left there, as they all but devour each other.

This is not enough, though, this press of skin on skin, hands in dark hair and the mindless movement of hips in an attempt to relieve a little of the pressure, a little of the need, that both feel and Dean breaks the kiss, moves down, leaning into Castiel's throat, to suck at the hollow there, marking the angel, moving his tongue over sensitive flesh and licking downwards, further still until his tongue passes over a nipple, feeling it pucker and harden as he draws his teeth over it lightly, hears Cas mutter something unintelligible, grins as he makes his way over to the other one, gives it the same treatment and all the while his hands have been working down, lightly caressing soft skin until questing fingers find what he is looking for.

The angel gasps and arches into him as Dean brushes against his erection, the fabric of the angel's pants taut across it and the hunter fumbles with belt and zipper for a moment until with a clink and a rasp the restraining fabric is loosened and Dean's mouth resumes it's trip downwards, hands pulling at black slacks, murmurs against the angel's skin encouraging him to lift his hips so that Dean can pull the pants off, swirling his tongue around one hip bone, ignoring the angel's erection altogether as he kisses his way down one leg, pants sliding slowly down and off. Dean repeats up the other leg, kissing a trembling thigh as he pushes his jeans off, releasing himself to the cold air and he sighs, closes his eyes for a moment until he reaches his destination.

Cas's hands fist in the sheets when Dean licks up the underside of his cock, groans when Dean runs his tongue across the top, breathes the hunter's name as he takes him in his mouth, sucks and moans around him, hips moving restlessly in time with the bobbing movements of the man's head. He can feel himself getting close, so very close, and he whimpers when Dean stops, kisses and licks his way back up, reaching and searching blindly in the bedside cabinet until he finds what he needs, coaxing Castiel's legs up and apart.

Dean loves doing this, loves making the normally composed angel fall apart beneath him, making his writhe and moan and beg, to hear _"Dean"_ and _"please"_ and _"more" _and _"yes"_ and _"now"_ spilling from the angel's lips in random combinations that all say the same thing. More than that, however, he loves the little noise that the angel makes when he pushes one slick finger inside him for the first time, that little whine that turns into a ragged gasp as he twists and stretches, adds a second finger, seeking, pressing and watching the angel jolt beneath him as he strokes his prostate, eyes rolling back as Dean adds a third finger, moving and thrusting and whimpering and all of it is almost too much, too much need, too much stimulation and if he does not stop now, does not sheath himself inside the angel in the next few moments, Dean knows that he will not last.

Castiel's disapproving mumble when Dean pulls his fingers out and slicks himself up is cut short by the hunters lips pressing into his, by his tongue sweeping back into the angel's mouth at the same time as he pushes his hardness slowly inside, strangely gentle, waiting until Castiel is ready before drawing out and pushing back in again, setting a slow steady rhythm, angling himself so that he hits that magic place inside the angel again and again. He reaches between them, then, takes Castiel's dick in his hand and pumps in time with his thrusts, the angel writhing and moving and matching his movements and Dean cannot think, can barely breathe, can feel heat and bliss pooling deep within him, thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels Cas pulse, hears him cry out, his name a hoarse, dry call on the angel's lips and Dean's own orgasm is not two seconds behind as the world goes white and he is dimly aware of calling Castiel's name as he collapses on top of him, breathing erratic as he rides out the orgasm.

When he comes back to himself he can feel Castiel's lips pressed to his forehead and he shifts, rolls to the side so that he can turn his face up and kiss him, this time slowly, lovingly and still wondering at all of this, feels Castiel smile and settles against him, legs still tangled, sweat cooling rapidly on the sheets and he knows that they should get cleaned up before Sam comes back, but he cannot bring himself to move from the bed, from the safe embrace of Castiel's arms. So he decides that they will stay like this, for just a moment longer.


End file.
